you know what they say about musicians
by petitebelette
Summary: Musicians are supposed to be good with their hands. And whattayaknow, Edward's a musician. AU/AH.
1. Chapter 1

**you know what they say about musicians  
(they're good with their hands)** - _part one_

**Genre:** Edward/Bella; AU/AH/smut with a glorified plot  
**Rating:** M, for adult language, horny teenagers, and eventually lemons.  
**Beta:** vampskies *heart*  
**Summary:** Musicians are supposed to be good with their hands. And whattayaknow, Edward's a musician.

This was written as a present for_ Jenn/dictums_ on LJ. I love her SFM and you better too.

* * *

Musicians were supposed to be good with their hands.

At least, that's what Jessica kept telling her.

_What does that even mean, though?_ she thought, fidgeting in her seat and trying to make sense of the numbers and confusing Greek symbols on the board.

Just because somebody could play the piano didn't mean they were exceptionally proficient at… other instances of hand-eye coordination. It was a very objectifying statement about musicians actually, and Bella would take no part in it. No part in it at all.

Still…

She sighed and twirled her pen, peeking off to the right exactly three seats forward to discreetly stare at Edward Cullen's graceful fingers.

There was a possibility she was fixated.

There was just something about his _hands_—large palms and long fingers, the way he moved them so intentionally across the keys of the piano during band practice. The way he _played_, losing himself into the music, the ebbing and coming of each note…

She snapped her attention back to her scattered nonsensical notes.

Yes, he was definitely good with his hands.

* * *

She couldn't even read music.

Written in little letters below the clefts and notes, Bella had scribbled shameful B's and A's and G's. Sometimes she'd memorize complete pages of music just to avoid the obvious embarrassment.

She played violin and not very well at all, which was why she was surprised to be dubbed a band geek—maybe it was her spastic nature and the normality of her nose found hidden deep in some book. And also probably because she had to lug around that slim black case, that hard uncomfortable tether over her shoulder. Along with her bag of books, recreational and not, and sheets of music, she fell a lot and most people had gotten used to it.

Violins are to bands as books are to geeks and all those analogies.

Edward Cullen on the other hand—Edward Cullen was another species altogether.

She'd laughed when she first saw him—_who wouldn't?_—but apparently she was terribly wrong about her first assessment, because Jessica had swooned.

So maybe she had laughed to cover up the instant insecurity (_he'd never want me back_) she felt about his stunning physique and blah blah blah. So he was nice-looking. Oh gosh, whom was she kidding? He was absolutely gorgeous and haunted her every fantasy.

He was quiet—abnormally quiet and abnormally beautiful, like a statue that somehow moved and breathed and rarely smiled.

But he did smile sometimes—she'd seen it—his head bowed over the trilling keys and his eyes closed to all else.

He had a penchant for crisp solid color button downs folded up to his elbows (better for playing, she assumed) and light thermals. In the spring he wore faded t-shirts and jeans, his bronze hair always mussed by sleep and his emerald eyes always distant and vivid and beautiful. (She was calling a man's eyes beautiful so she knew she _must_ have it bad.)

He was the center of attention no matter what lengths he went to blend into the crowd and shadows, and Bella liked to think she related. She wasn't beautiful or gorgeous or ethereally stunning, but she was shy and clumsy, and it drew unwanted attention, too. (She was grasping at straws for some kind of connection, she knew.)

In terms of high school hierarchy, Edward would have it made if he took advantage of the fluttering eyelashes sent his way, and yet the only thing he seemed to pay attention to was his music.

Bella couldn't blame a man for being passionate, she'd just always wondered what it would be like if his passion were for her.

Along with the entirety of the female population, she was sure.

* * *

Edward Cullen had a problem.

He had many problems—like the test for history eighth period he'd neglected to study for, and Chopin's Polonaise #7 in A Flat, and an annoying meddling little sister appropriately named Alice. (She _was_ very curious and seemed to have gotten shorter over the years.)

But most of all Edward Cullen's problem was Isabella Swan.

The problem was he was quite… taken with her? obsessed? a bit too concerned with trying to discern the outline of her bra beneath her shirt and the exact color of her big auburn doe eyes? It was something like that, to be sure.

For the past two years, ever since he'd entered this godforsaken school building in this godforsaken town and witnessed her petite curving form bending over to collect Beethoven sheet music in a pair of pretty little shorts, it had been something like that.

It had been the shorts. And the legs. And her surprised eyes flicking up to his and keeping him there for a few seconds too long.

His first thought after seeing Bella Swan had been: _I need to know this girl._ Well actually it had been _Holy fuck_, but that was beside the point.

He'd almost said to hello to her, that first day in English. She'd been smiling indulgently at some average blond rambling a mile a minute about junior prom (he hadn't gone, by the way) and he'd been hovering at the seat beside her, unsure if he had the guts to sit down.

Jessica—now he knew her name—had sent him surreptitious glances he ignored, and Bella had, in turn, flat-out ignored him.

The teacher had strolled in not long after and assigned seats.

So he spent all of junior year memorizing the dips and hues and turns of her back, and each passing day dragged out into months, and saying "hello," became more difficult than disarming a bomb in the last ten seconds before the big boom.

Now it was senior year, and it was May, and he was pathetic.

Absolutely pathetic.

All he cared about, he told his sister, was getting into Juilliard, so he had no time for girls and dates. (And that was true, even though he had already gotten into Juilliard last month when he flew out east to audition.) To be honest, he was a bit freaked out she was so concerned with his love life, and was beginning to suspect she thought he might be gay.

He couldn't very well offer up that story about the time Bella existed at all in his presence and he spent half the time thinking about what she tasted like and half the time playing Mozart in his head to limit the amount of blood rushing to his groin as evidence of his sexual preferences. Or he could, but that would be even more embarrassing.

He was at a stalemate, perpetuated by his own stubbornness and anxiety.

And he had the gall to call himself a man.

* * *

Band practice was, obviously, his favorite time of day for precisely two reasons.

One, he could spend time and then time after perfecting and teaching his fingers the sense memory of Mozart's and Debussy's and all the great composers' compositions. He had spent what seemed like an eternity in this spot, breaking his wrists for a shot at Juilliard, and now it seemed more of a home than his actual room. He could sit on the black bench for days and let his music speak for his silence, let it filter through him in words no one else could understand.

Two, for exactly two hours and a half, Bella Swan sat in the string section with her hand-me-down violin and looked absolutely unendingly fuckable.

And today was no different.

Today might be a little different, because she had found it necessary to take out those little shorts again.

He watched from beneath lowered lids as he pretended to study his sheet music (which was a joke, because he knew Ode to Joy by Beethoven like the back of his hand) and tried to keep his breath even.

The cuffs were fraying and tickling the tops of her thighs, and her long hair was down and touching her waist. He watched the curve of her smile and the animation of her hands as she explained something trivial to Angela Weber while packing up her things, her knees knocking together to some unheard beat.

She was wearing a pale blue tank top and he could tell her bra was an ivory white from the straps.

He licked his lips and this time turned to the piano, his fingers finding their place to play the composition softly. The tempo was off, a bit too fast like his pounding heartbeat. He should just say hello.

Hello never hurt anyone. She was a friendly girl. Everyone in this school adored her for one reason or another, despite her clumsiness and her stuttering and her frightening habit of always getting injured. She was intelligent and beautiful and soon he'd be going to Juilliard and she'd be going… he didn't even know where, and then he wouldn't ever get to say hello to her, let alone take off her clothes and make her beg for him to do certain things he—_well, _hey_ there_—definitely should _not_ be thinking about during band practice.

He missed a note due to his growing _problem_ and immediately switched to something by Mozart, the complicated keys occupying his wandering thoughts.

That was until a pair of shorts sat next to him.

A few misplaced pounds created a short unappealing symphony, and he snapped his gaze to Bella's small tentative smile.

"Sorry, I uhm… hi," she said very quietly.

He blinked. How eloquent of him.

"I didn't mean to…" she trailed off, and looked somewhere off to the side, her hands clutching the bench on either side of her… distracting… body.

She was even more stunning up close.

"Uhm, Edward, I was—I'm Bella, if you didn't…" Her eyes dragged over his, her cheeks automatically filling with blush. He felt the intense nearly insuppressible urge to kiss the pink dots. "We have math together, right?"

"Yes," he answered, somehow.

"Jessica, I mean… she's great, but she's not…" His eyes dropped to her magenta lips, her small tongue pronouncing syllables, and one hand lifting to gesture nervously.

He wasn't quite sure what she was talking about and he was also quite sure he wasn't really concerned about it, either.

"What I'm saying is I'm sort of failing and Mr. Farbman told me that I should ask you to tutor me." She finally got to the point, and that's when she licked her lips, tucking the tip around the bottom curve and then behind her teeth. "He said you'd get extra credit," she added, her eyes wide and anxious, waiting for a reaction. It was probably a sin, he thought, that she didn't know how sexy she was. "Is there something in my teeth?"

_Shit_. He looked straight ahead. "No."

"Oh," she said simply. An excruciating pause passed, one in which he wondered if he had forgotten every other word in the English language besides 'yes' and 'no.' "Well… no to my teeth or no to the tutoring?"

It was time to piece together a sentence. Subject, verb, object. Something. _Anything_.

"To the teeth," he managed.

"And the tutoring?"

Tutoring Bella. Being around Bella. Talking to Bella. Sitting next to Bella.

"It's no pressure. If you don't have time," she said in a rush of unsure words.

"I'll tutor you."

She let out a relieved exhale, one that directed his attention to her chest. He swallowed (more like gulped) and found her brown eyes, gleaming with the strength of a small thankful smile. "Thanks," she whispered.

He was probably going to end up sexually assaulting her over a trigonometry problem. He just knew it.

* * *

It was ironic that Edward Cullen was going to tutor her in the class she was failing mostly because of him.

It's not that she didn't pay attention; she did. She took as comprehensive notes as she could while admiring the angle of his shoulders and the hint of muscle below his shirt. His hands, the outline of his lips.

She paid attention.

When she told Jessica in passing during lunch the next day exactly what her plans were after band practice five to whenever, Jessica had been kind enough to point this out to her. She'd also been kind enough to ask if Bella expected to land Edward Cullen in jeans and a hoodie.

She highly resented that.

She neglected to let Jessica know that it didn't matter what she wore—she was plain and that was that. If Edward's usual countenance were any indication of his feelings (carnal, friendly, or more fittingly robotic) towards her, she had nothing to worry about in that department. It didn't matter if she met up with Edward after school today in nothing but hooker boots, he would probably stare at her with that same inconceivably blank look that he always did.

He was asexual. Or she was extremely unattractive. It could be either one, she decided, and because she didn't have the healthiest self-image when superimposed on someone with devastatingly fortunate genes like Edward Cullen, she was inclined to think the worst.

Instead she had heaved a sigh and Jessica had rolled her eyes and changed to the topic to which dress she should wear on her date with Mike Newton tonight.

Jessica was quite a frivolous person, Bella knew that, but she wasn't a bad friend either, even if she rolled her eyes a lot. Bella actually appreciated the constant reminder that she was over-thinking things, and sometimes Jessica needed a kick in the butt to shut up and save herself the trouble of losing a few friends by running her mouth.

It wasn't an ideal friendship, but Bella loved Jessica like she loved a sister, if she had one. They wouldn't be friends if they didn't have the uncanny ability to balance the other out, and like sisters, sometimes Bella wanted to pull her hair out and tattle to the nearest available grown-up that Jessica was being a bitch to her.

But still—it balanced out.

That was why when Bella saw the patented Jessica-eye-roll, she knew it was time to talk about if Jessica looked better in pink or magenta and forget, for at least the remainder of the day, that Edward Cullen was staring at her and had in fact been staring at her the entirety of lunch.

* * *

As it turned out, he'd gotten over the staring thing by the time band practice had started, and she sat in front of the piano, idly plucking and tuning her strings with such intense concentration one would assume Bella honestly cared that her E-string was _just so_.

Edward, as usual, played Mozart to warm up. (Warming up with _Mozart_ for high school band—yeah, it didn't make sense to her either.) The whole situation with him playing the piano with those _hands_ didn't actually help the situation at all, considering after fifteen minutes of peeking at his hunched back and half-lidded eyes and working fingers, she was too busy rubbing her thighs together to care at all if her violin strings were even there to begin with.

It was probably a good thing that he'd stopped staring—there was only so much Bella could take. Plus she was sure that at precisely five, when she would try to casually confront him about their tutoring date, she would have plenty more ammunition, even if he was quite exanimate for a human being.

"Are you ready to work on some numbers?" she asked during said moment of reckoning.

The piano was hard against her hip as she leaned against it with a hesitant smile. Angela and the rest of the band were talking and laughing behind them, slowly filtering out from the auditorium and ready to get the hell out of school, finally.

Edward hadn't moved—in fact, his hands hadn't even left the piano, but his intense blank stare was on her, and by god if that wasn't doing things to her body, than she didn't know what was.

She heard Jessica's voice inside her head. It sounded something like, _Just fuck him and get it over with. Maybe you'll stop talking about him so much, okay? _(Jessica had actually said that once, so Bella wasn't surprised.)

"Of course," he responded with all the warmth of the Arctic Ocean, which was still quite cold, even if the polar ice caps were melting.

She wasn't quite sure what to do or how to respond besides opening her books on top of the piano and standing while he injected her with all of his great knowledge about angles and cosines.

But then he scooted over on the bench and she plopped down next to him. "Are we just going to do this here?" she asked, ignoring the implications of doing and here.

"If you don't mind," he said politely, and played a few random keys. She watched, transfixed, as he tested out a strain of some composition she had never heard, sure fingers following the music.

There was no way she would learn anything like this.

"I have to practice," he explained. His voice had dropped low, as if the passion of his music had brought a little part of him to life. "What are you having trouble with? We'll go over what to cover first."

"Oh, uhm…" She sighed and clutched her textbook to her chest, eyes trailing up his fingers to his wrists, tracing the blue veins in his arms and the wrinkled, folded cotton of his black button-down. If she had thought for a moment that concentrating on his parted lips and hard curving jaw would help with her attention problem, she would have been wrong. "…everything, really," she professed with a small laugh. Edward didn't respond, which was discouraging. He probably thought she was stupid. "Well, mostly the last two sections," she rushed to clarify. "The tests have been cumulative, so…"

"So you'd like me just to teach you everything I know?" he inquired.

"Uhm, well, not _everything_, but…" She paused and thought about that for a moment. "Well yes, just about everything."

His lips, so still, tilted upwards into a knowing smile, his fingers dancing. "Have you ever played the piano, Bella?"

She held her breath, cherishing the way he pronounced her name, his tongue lingering on the elle and breaking off into that soft uh. "No," she managed to answer, shaking her head. "Strings," she reminded him.

"Mm," he hummed. "Would you like me to teach you?"

Yes, her mind accepted immediately, despite wondering why and worrying about passing mathematics. Her vocal chords had other plans. "Uhm. What about math?"

His smile grew, uncovering a glimpse of white teeth and crinkling the skin around his eyes. It was by far the most adorable smile she had ever seen. "I'd rather teach you something I enjoy," he answered, and then suddenly he stopped playing.

There was a deep silence and he turned that small smile towards her, the light in his eyes gentle and something else… something else that stirred every molecule in her body down to its core.

She was very aware how close he was to her, and how small the bench was, and the warm temperature of his body radiating into hers, and she wanted nothing more than to reach out and have him.

"I guess I'd rather learn something interesting," she conceded. "We could… work on math after?"

"Of course," he said, and turned back to the keys.

"It's funny," she laughed, finally relaxing. "We haven't spoken once before this, I don't think."

His smile turned wry, amused, and secretive. "I don't speak to that many people."

"That's true." She bit her lip and stroked the keys in front of her softly, carefully.

"You're already doing it wrong," Edward chastised her, and she was expecting she would do it wrong, but suddenly those hands she fantasized about were over hers, warm and solid and leading the pads of her fingerprints to the right keys. Her teeth sunk deeper and she leaned towards him instinctively, greedily breathing in the clean scent of his laundry detergent and some sweet musky scent that must be all Edward.

Her nose nearly collided with his shoulder, but she hovered there anyway, her cheeks blazing.

"Like this," he showed her, his voice breathy. "B, C, D, E, F, G, A, B, C. And the sharps… A, C, D… F, G, A, C."

"Oh," she sighed.

He moved one of his arms around her, his palm flattening at her lower back. She sucked in air and felt her lashes flutter, her eyes flashing over to Edward's stare.

"Got it?" he whispered, his fingers curling at her back. A rush of pleasure paralyzed her; her fingers smashed the keys accidentally and she flinched.

Edward chuckled and she blushed. "Oh. Oops." She cursed inwardly, trying to remember to breathe when his other hand curled around her small wrist.

"Keep them up," he continued, raising the delicate curve. "Repeat the notes for me, Bella."

"Oh…" Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. "A Sharp, B, C, C Sharp, D, D Sharp…" she began, playing each one. "E, F… F Sharp, G, G Sharp, A, A Sharp, B, C, C Sharp… right?"

"You were listening," he said, pleased.

Bella smiled. "I also know how to play the _Jaws_ theme," she said proudly.

"Cute," he smirked.

It shouldn't have made her blush so hard, but it did. "Heh, what's—what's next?" she stuttered.

"Maybe some math would be a good idea," he said, and she looked over, her breath stopping at his proximity, the way her shoulder was nestled into his chest but not touching it, his bent head and parted lips inches from hers.

She didn't want to do any math. Or learn any piano, for that matter.

"Oh—okay," she nodded.

"Bella?"

"Yes?"

Her skin was humming and his eyes were so green and dark and fixated on her. She was shaking lightly from holding herself back—from ignoring the natural instinct press up against him and fit her lips with his. It would be so easy…

He opened his mouth as if to say something but stopped for a long moment, his tongue finally darting out to lick his lips.

"You brought your textbook?"

"Oh! Oh, yes," she jumped up and grabbed it from the top of the piano, banging her knee in the process with a sharp hiss. Ungracefully, she fell to the seat, trying to pretend he hadn't seen her be such a complete idiot. "I have it! I have it."

"Is your knee okay?"

"What?" She opened the book and flipped absently through the pages. "What knee?"

* * *

NEXT PART SOON!


	2. Chapter 2

**you know what they say about musicians**

**(they're good with their hands)** - _part two_

**Genre**: Edward/Bella; AU/AH/smut with a glorified plot

**Rating**: M, for adult language, horny teenagers, and eventually lemons.

**Beta**: vampskies *heart*

**Summary**: Musicians are supposed to be good with their hands. And whattayaknow, Edward's a musician.

This was written as a present for _Jenn/dictums_ on LJ. She's my meteor.

* * *

That night he dreamt of Bella Swan draped across an abnormally long piano bench in the middle of a bed of roses. She was, of course, naked in his rampant imagination, and when he went to nestle himself between her legs she whispered his name, but wouldn't let him kiss her pink parted lips.

He woke up to a raging hard-on and his blaring alarm clock. That was how day two began.

* * *

Day two continued in the same fashion. Mozart was in constant rotation in his head, especially during math class when Bella sent him a small smile and blushing cheeks and a little fidgeting wave.

He looked at her, a bit stunned, before sliding into his seat, knuckles hard around the desk. Like an asshole, he didn't greet her in return.

She was wearing that blue tank that she clearly didn't realize dipped down a little too low. It was distracting and seven kinds of inappropriate, considering he spent the rest of the period imagining seven ways he could have her underneath him. But it was still unforgivably inappropriate how distracting she was, each of her movements holding his peripheral vision, as if she had shackled his attention even more so than usual.

It was because he had touched her—felt her warmth and her body, felt it shiver at his touch.

Fuck, he needed to feel her again.

He spent most of lunch picking at his turkey sandwich and not listening to a word Alice was saying. (Something about prom dresses?) He spent most of lunch with his head down in his hand, strategically angled towards Bella and Jessica. He watched them laugh and roll an empty water bottle back and forth between them in envy.

Jessica caught him looking at least five times, and each time she'd whisper something in Bella's ear, but by then his gaze was back on his sandwich or his motor mouth of a sister, and he never got to see what she thought about what a pathetic creeper he was.

By the time band practice came around, she was monopolizing his every thought and then some—"some" meaning a particular bodily function that was functioning a bit _too_ well.

He was being blatant and obvious about it, too, and that's what worried him the most. Instead of playing Mozart to quell (or at least ignore) his sexual frustration, he found himself staring while she tuned her violin and exchanged some conversation about _Hamlet_ with Angela.

That was, until she glanced over at him curiously, each time offering him a small smile.

He managed to finally return it around the third time, and the small spark in her eyes it caused warmed him, excited him beyond the curve of her breast and the memory of her skin.

He curled his fingers into fists in his lap and couldn't look away this time. He didn't want to look away, especially when her cheeks turned pink and she bit her bottom lip gently, her big brown eyes speaking to him in some language he didn't quite understand.

By the time practice was over and he started to pack away some of his things, completely focused on her slow steps over to him, he was ready. He was fucking soaring. He could do this. This beautiful girl he'd always wanted was stuck with him for the rest of the year, and he could do this.

He could talk to her and be her friend. He could smile when she looked at him and maybe he could make love to her against every available surface, if she wanted him to.

Please god, he wanted her to want him to.

"Hey, Edward," she said, next to the bench.

"Bella." He smiled as he said her name, and just about came in his pants when she sat down next to him. It had just occurred to him that not nine hours ago he had pleasured himself to the fantasy of taking her on this bench and now he would have to sit on it with her.

"What?" She chuckled a bit, and tilted her head to the side.

He let his face slacken from whatever expression had just taken hold of his features. "What?" he replied.

"You were…" She shook her head, an embarrassed smile stretching her lips, and took out her math book. "Never mind. What's up?"

_Ironic_. He laughed to himself. "The usual." She had no idea how usual it was. "How are you?"

"I'm good. I'm tired. I'm not looking forward to this." She settled on the page where they left off from yesterday, smoothing the glossed surface.

"I was looking forward to this all day." The words, too sincere, came from him easily and unfiltered. It was true, of course. From the moment he woke up all he wanted was to be back in this spot, enjoying her presence, torturing himself with those perfect breasts and sweet lips, and—god, all he wanted was to know the sounds she made when she came. When _he_ made her come. He wanted to make it happen so often he couldn't possibly ever forget.

"Oh," she sighed out. She blushed. She looked down to the math equations with a pleased-as-hell smile and he very nearly kissed her right there.

He was already invading the line between them, his hand clutching the back of the bench next to her hip; his torso inclined towards her.

"I mean… yeah, I don't mind… seeing you," she explained, darting her gaze to him questioningly. "You're… I like you, Edward." Her face flamed; her words started to stutter as if she realized what that could mean. "It's the math, that's all. You're, uhm. Where did we leave off? Proofs?"

"I think it was proofs," he whispered, holding her startled and frightened eyes with his. Her chest was heaving slightly, and when he reached a hand over to take the book from her lap, his fingers brushed her thigh.

She rubbed them together once as he pulled away, and it made him freeze momentarily.

"I like you too, Bella," he finally said.

Her lips were crimson with the attention her teeth gave them. Her bottom one popped out from beneath the onslaught and she blinked once. "Like how?" she blurted out.

_Like I want to strip you down to your bare skin and keep you chained to my bed. Like I want to make you scream and whimper and beg me to fuck you. Essentially, Bella, that's how._

It was his turn to blush, and he hated it—he hated feeling that pool of blood enter his cheeks and betray him.

"I don't—what I mean is," she began to speak again, prompted his silence, "Jessica says you always stare at me and uhm, I was just… never mind, I'm so stupid." She looked away, but not quickly enough that he didn't see the telling crystal reflection of hot tears entering her eyes.

He felt her panic and grabbed for her as she started to stand up, finally, finally feeling her warm body beneath his palms.

She gasped and tripped sideways into his urging, right into the side of his thigh. He encircled his arms around her waist and now that she was so close, her breasts against his chest and her eyes on his lips, little fingers curling into the collar of his shirt, he kissed her.

He felt her lips and tasted her small gasp; he shuddered as she kissed back, her tongue soft and gentle and inexperienced. And a huge fucking turn-on.

He groaned; he couldn't help it, just like he couldn't help groping at her shirt as she melted and melded into him. Just like he couldn't help grazing the bare skin at her waist and sucking at her bottom lip when she whimpered. _Whimpered_. For _him_.

The sound pushed him off the edge. He felt a growl rising in his throat as she grabbed handfuls of his hair, fisting them painfully into her palms. He shifted—closer, he needed to get closer—and rose enough from the bench to grab one of her legs and press her back to the hard surface.

She panted into his mouth and compiled, so easily and so willing every last drop of blood in his body seemed to head south, and he pushed between her legs awkwardly (unsurprisingly it had been easier in the dream), threading his fingers through the spools of dark hair framing her face.

"I definitely like you," he confessed under his breath, so distracted by her soft answering moan and the sensual way she wrapped her legs around his waist, her body arching and moving with his.

"Edward," she pleaded, clutching at him.

She was so perfect and she wanted him, she _definitely_ wanted him, otherwise she wouldn't be letting him assault her like this, touch her like this, kiss her like this. She wouldn't be letting him pin her to a piano bench with no warning whatsoever and release about two years worth of pent-up sexual frustration.

He moved his kiss down to her neck and licked her thrumming pulse, smiling when she purred and arched into his mouth. He held her hips as they rolled up into his desperately. He bit her jugular as he pushed down into her, moaning when she cried softly and it echoed throughout the auditorium.

She wanted him. She _wanted_ him.

He scooped her up and she flailed momentarily, grabbing at his shoulders. He knocked his knee on the edge of the bench but hardly felt it, dropping her unceremoniously onto the piano keys. They banged, loud and ear splitting, but her open mouth was on his and her tongue was licking his lips, and all he could feel was her body and her touch.

Just Bella and only Bella, _all_ of Bella.

"I've wanted you for so long," he gasped out as she tore past a few buttons on his shirt, her hands greedily feeling his chest.

The piano keys played a staccato symphony as he leaned into her.

Her back arched, her fingertips grasping at his neck. Those eyelashes fluttered, her pupils dilated and pleading, wanting him. "I like your hands," she confessed breathlessly, and the aroused blush on her cheeks deepened.

He laughed, amazed at how damn cute she was and how she _wanted_ him, leaning in to kiss away her embarrassment.

A hum vibrated into his mouth as his lips lingered on hers, once, twice. Again and again until she was wrapped around him, all warm and responsive to every touch. "Edward," she whispered, as he tasted that small nook below her ear, that small little nook that had driven him crazy for two years, looking so soft and vulnerable and entirely kissable.

Her toes curled against the back of his thighs, so he did it again.

He felt the thin cloth of her top, hiking up the fabric and shuffling closer when she exhaled a beautiful moan and his fingers touched the line of her bra.

She reached into the hair at the nape of his neck and he shivered as she tickled the sensitive skin with the edges of her nails.

"So much for math," she breathed on a giggle, nuzzling her nose into his offered neck.

He grinned as her moist breath caressed his skin and he leaned back to claim her lips, tugging at her legs and groaning in triumph as she squeaked and clutched at his collar—as she sighed and melted and rubbed thoughtlessly into the very painful erection straining against his jeans.

"I want you," he pleaded, trailing his mouth down her neck and to her delicate collarbone, squeezing her against him, palm flattened at her lower back. He tasted the skin over the line of her top and sighed when she threaded her fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp. "I've wanted you forever."

_Please let me have you. Please let me have you._

"Me too," she murmured. "I mean—I've wanted you, not… what does this mean?"

A blaring alarm went off in his head, one that disturbed the amount of pleasure he was experiencing in his groin area. He pushed his hips into hers, again and again, his mind really fucking annoyed it had to think past making her moan.

He studied the polished black top of the piano and turned his mouth under her jaw.

She shivered, and her toes did that adorable curling thing again, but his name sounded like a question. "Edward?"

"It means I want you," he answered evasively, and kissed her parted lips, ignoring the cautious look that he caught flashing through her gaze.

She pushed at his shoulders, her mouth suddenly sealed closed to his. "Stop," she warned.

_Fuck_.

He looked into those pretty eyes guiltily. "Well, what is this? Is this just… this is just physical?" The way she said it—_just physical_—made him want to punch himself in the face. She sounded so _sad_ and he was just coming to realize what a Grade A asshole he really was.

He didn't want to be the reason she looked so fucking _sad_ like that, just because his penis had trouble ignoring how gorgeous she was.

She shifted uncomfortably under his stare and looked off to the side, her features struggling to flatten into something less devastated, but he saw it. He saw it and he wanted to drop to his knees and ask her to marry him if it meant she'd smile at him again.

"You want to go out on a date with me Saturday?"

It wasn't until her wide-as-saucers eyes darted back to him and her lips started tugging up into the most breathtaking smile he'd ever seen that he realized he'd said anything.

"Okay," she finally answered, looking blissfully to the ground and jumping down from the piano.

He stared at the spot she had been for about fifteen seconds before he realized what had just happened.

* * *

Part three on the way...


	3. Chapter 3

**you know what they say about musicians**

**(they're good with their hands)** - part three

**Genre**: Edward/Bella; AU/AH/smut with a glorified plot

**Rating**: M, for adult language, horny teenagers, and eventually lemons.

**Beta**: vampskies *heart*

**Summary**: Musicians are supposed to be good with their hands. And whattayaknow, Edward's a musician.

This was written as a present for _Jenn/dictums _on LJ. She's my life now.

* * *

The funny thing about making out with Edward Cullen was for the next sixteen hours and counting, the only thing Bella Swan could think about was his hands.

His lips.

His eyes.

His _hands_.

She sat in homeroom and thought about his kiss and the low growls he made when she gasped. She thought about how thick and hard he'd felt between her legs and how much she wanted him.

She spent first period wondering about how sore her inner thighs were and how alive she felt. She was happy to hear about _The Tempest_ even though it wasn't her favorite play and for the first time in her life she was personally worried about what to wear on Saturday.

By the time math came, she was a bundle of shaking nerves, because during math Jessica would see her and know something was up. Edward would probably stroll in right before the bell and she had no idea what he'd do or say and then Jessica would have a clue what the hell was going on with her.

She didn't want it to happen, on one hand, because she had _no_ idea what was going on. She wasn't sure what the appropriate etiquette of having someone ravish you desperately, ask you out, and then go over trigonometry angles with you was, or if there was any. On the other hand, she wanted to see him. She wanted to know if he would smile at her or talk to her or even kiss her hello.

She severely doubted he'd do the last one, and she couldn't lie—she was afraid he'd do nothing.

That's how guys were, right? They got what they wanted and then were heartbreakingly cruel about it, right?

She sighed as she sat down next to Jessica and shot her the best fake smile she could muster.

He did ask her out. That meant he liked her, right? He said he wanted her. What if he just asked her out to keep things as comfortable as possible? What if he just didn't want the rest of the semester to be weird between them, since he had to endure her presence? What if he just asked her out because he realized she wasn't going to put out and he had to work a little harder to get in her pants? What if-

"What the hell are you looking like that for?"

Jessica's eyes were narrowed into little telling slits.

"Uh, like what?" She ducked her head self-consciously and reached into her bag for her books.

"I don't know, like there's a test you didn't study for." Bella bit her lip and opened the textbook, fingers shaking. "_Oh my god_, is there a test I forgot to study for?!"

"_No_, Jessica," she snapped, frantically.

One look into her best friend's eyes, and that was that. Five perfectly manicured nails wrapped around her arm, and Jessica tugged her torso into the aisle so their faces were close. "You… you are _not_ telling me something, Bella."

"What?" she choked out. Busted.

Edward Cullen took that opportunity to walk into the room, and considering Bella's entire body was tuned to recognizing his slow grace and broad shoulders, her head snapped up.

Her cheeks colored, unsurprisingly, and a puff of air left her.

His hair was a beautiful mess. He was wearing jeans and a grey button-down rolled up to his elbows. And his emerald eyes went straight to hers; his confident steps faltered and slowed for a fraction of a second.

She felt warm all over.

She opened her mouth to say something, and he stopped like a deer caught in a pair of extremely bright headlights.

There was a reason she opened her mouth—and yet no sound came out.

He _squeaked_ out an uncharacteristic 'hi,' and Bella stared at him stupidly for about three seconds.

That was until Jessica helpfully kicked her ankle. "Hi!" she burst out on a painful grimace.

"How are you?" he asked politely, hovering by his seat.

She blushed again, because truth be told she was confused and unsure, but also totally willing to tackle him right then and there.

"Good!" she replied brightly, smiling. Smiling was a bad idea, because suddenly she realized that Edward was talking to her and he had kissed her and all she wanted to do was smile at him. "I'm good," she added soberly. "How are you?"

"I'm… all right," he answered, and shifted closer. His face went a little pink and his lips tugged up, the light in his eyes tugging at her heartstrings. His gaze darted to the ground and then back to her, and she inhaled at the burning look he sent her from behind thick eyelashes. "You look good today," he added, his hesitation filtered away.

"Th-thanks," she forced out of empty lungs. Breathe. "You don't look bad yourself."

His smile transformed into a smirk and he slid into his seat, knees jutting out from the desk. He didn't look away from her eyes once, not until Mr. Farbman walked into the room and the lesson began.

She stared at her desk; feeling a bit like she had just ran a mile with all the adrenaline in her veins.

"_What the hell was that_?" Jessica hissed in a whisper beside her.

She wished she knew.

* * *

Bella did this thing during lunch, and this thing involved staring at Edward Cullen. He had never caught her, not once, because despite being the biggest spaz probably ever, she was also extremely good at keeping secrets.

Especially this little lustful infatuation with Edward Cullen. She had excelled at admiring him from afar for ages (okay, two years) and now that he seemed shamelessly intent on admiring her openly, it put a chink in all of her previous efforts.

And he was. That is, he _was_ admiring her quite openly, considering he had that damn sexy smirk on his face and hadn't looked away from her startled lovesick gaze for about a minute.

"So are you going to tell me why Edward Cullen is eye-fucking you, or are you going to keep ignoring me?"

Jessica's fingers snapped in front of her face, and she was forced to concentrate on Jessica's pout.

"What?" she asked, dazed.

"Hel_lo_, earth to Bella! Edward Cullen? Eye-fucking you? _Tell me the details_."

"What?" Her voice broke and even screeched a little. "That is _not_—we are _not_—really? He's looking at me like that?" Cue blush.

Jessica rolled her eyes. "Uh, yeah. I wouldn't be surprised if he strolled over here, lifted up your skirt, and did you on the table right over my mac and cheese at this point. The guy has the hots for you. I thought we went over this."

And they had—or at least Jessica had—many times, but Bella had always been one hundred percent sure he was not interested. Until last night, of course.

"Uhm."

"Don't 'uhm' me," she ordered, scooping up a bite. "What happened yesterday?"

"Uhm, well… I don't know," she shrugged, picking up the shiny apple on her tray. Discreetly (out of habit), she glanced over at Edward's table, biting her lip as he chuckled at his sister.

He was smiling a lot today.

"How do you not know?" Jessica pounded her plastic fork into her dish again. Bella knew Jessica getting vicious with her food was a good sign of growing impatience.

"No, I know," she clarified. "We just… I don't know, we were talking and I asked if he you know, liked me and we kissed and then he asked me out."

"You _what_?! He did _what_?!"

Bella grimaced at the growing decibel of her voice, and shot a precautionary glance over at Edward, unsurprised that he had turned to look over.

Along with his sister Alice and many others in the immediate vicinity.

"Shh!" she urged, gesturing her hands in a _shut up please!_ motion. "Can we keep this between _us_, please?" she hissed.

Jessica's eyes flashed and she leaned in, voice under control. "Okay, tell me everything. He kissed you? Where? Was he any good?" Her damn blushing must have given her away, because Jessica immediately smiled. "He _was_ good."

"Yes, he kissed me," she said, narrowing her eyes mockingly. "On my lips, thank you." And other places. "And he was… really _really_ good." She nodded slowly, trying to communicate this level of 'good' with her expression.

Jessica got it, of course, because she was Jessica. "Better than Nick Mazzo in ninth grade?"

Nick had been her last boyfriend. Bella didn't like to talk about him mostly because he had been a monumental douche and broken up her for literally no other reason besides "it's not me, it's you." But he had also been a monumental kisser.

"Nick who?" she breathed, and then fanned herself playfully.

* * *

On Fridays there was no band practice, which Bella was severely disappointed about. It only occurred to her as she pouted into her open locker that she had no excuse to see Edward after school today besides, of course, just _happening_ to take a different route to the parking lot which involved walking in a large inconvenient circle for no reason other than to look at him look at her looking at him.

This seemed like a good enough excuse, and she was planning very faithfully to do it when Edward Cullen's arm encircled her waist and his voice whispered into her ear, "Hey."

He said _hey_ and it very nearly killed her.

While she promptly died, she also tangled up her own legs rushing to turn around, which was a curse because it was embarrassing, but also sort of not, considering Edward took a step closer and held her tighter. And then he didn't let go, his moist breath mingling with hers and her back uncomfortably half-trapped in her locker.

"Hi," she said, her fists filled with the soft cotton of his shirt.

There weren't many (currently any, actually) people in the little alcove the school had thrown her locker, and she was exuberantly happy about this quite suddenly.

She was trying very hard to think of something to say. Like _how was your day?_ or _can you believe that bow Lauren Mallory was wearing?_ or _how about them Yankees?_ but somehow all she managed to do was watch his dark heavy gaze grow darker and wish fervently that he'd kiss her again—right here, in the middle of the hall—with all the passion he had yesterday.

There was just something about the way he held her against him, so firm and possessive, that melted her all up inside.

"Hey," he murmured again, and tilted his head, coming closer.

She breathed deep and slid her palms to cup his neck, biting her lip in anticipation as his eyelashes fluttered. "Hey," she replied.

"Hi," he smirked, and then his forehead touched hers, his nose nudging and nuzzling into her cheek.

"Hi," she exhaled, smiling.

And then he kissed her—softly and gently and with a relieved humming sigh—before pulling away with a bemused smile. She watched his uncovering teeth and licked his kiss from her lips, tilting up as he retreated. His hands moved from her waist, fingers weaving into the hair at the nape of her neck. She shivered when his thumb rubbed the lobe of her ear and his lips descended on hers again, tasting her low moan.

"Edward," she gasped, and he pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of her lips and stepped away, his eyes half-hooded and his hands digging deep into his pockets.

She slumped against the metal frame and let her arms fall to her sides.

"Sorry," he said gruffly.

_Huh. What?_ "Huh. What?" There was nothing to be sorry about, clearly—except for stopping.

"We're supposed to at least have a date before I pin you up against a wall," he said evenly, calmly.

"Oh." She blushed hard. "Uhm… I don't think that rule applies if you've already pinned me against a piano."

"Oh," he responded, removing his hands from their confines. "Well," he sighed. "In that case," he decided, and came forward, grabbing her waist and pulling her to him. "Hi." He grinned before kissing her again in that same searing, careful, slow way she felt all the way down to her toes.

There wasn't much else she could do but press against him and hungrily follow his lead, resting her head back on the forearm he'd placed behind her. "I think I like pleasantries," she muttered, chasing his lips every time he pulled back.

She felt him smile. "How are you today, Bella?" Kiss.

"Good." Kiss. "And you?"

"Good."

* * *

Unfortunately, Bella was distracted all evening. It seemed every moment her mind seized to think about Edward Cullen (and roaming hands and long kisses) was just one more moment she wasn't paying attention to dinner on the stove or the book she was reading.

She managed to burn rice; that was a good indicator of her problematic situation. She spent Saturday cleaning and re-cleaning the house before jumping into the shower, looking into her closet, and panicking. Jessica had been an angel (a testy angel, but an angel nevertheless), when Bella had frantically called in a towel and growing tears.

Now she was opening the door for Edward in a modest embroidered black skirt and a sweetheart top.

She felt girly and absolutely ridiculous, but apparently she was wrong because Edward, who was holding daisies and his car keys, audibly gulped at the sight of her. "I brought these," he managed to say after working his eyes up to hers.

She took the offered flowers with a blush, mostly because he was wearing fitted black jeans and a pressed white button-down, and she breathed in when his fingers curled around hers over the stem of the flowers. And then he was stepping forward, leaning down to move fluidly and effortlessly into a kiss.

He moaned softly because her fingers had reached up to thread into his hair, completely of their own accord.

His lips were coaxing hers, softly and sensually, and she broke away, her eyes on the ground. "Thanks, I need to put these in water," she rambled out.

Her face was red-hot as she spun around and walked into the kitchen, her fingers unsteady as she pulled out a vase and ran the kitchen sink.

It's not that she wanted to stop—the problem was actually that she _really_ didn't want to stop, and Jessica had already explained to her as Bella was panicking over what panties to wear that she was not going to sleep with Edward Cullen.

Hence, she was wearing white cotton undies with 'Monday's written on it. "Monday" was for _I'm not going to sleep with Edward Cullen because he might see these and I'll never live it down._ Jessica might be kind of flaky, but she knew best, and when she said, "Bella, you are not a hussy," Bella had nodded fiercely and then said, "I'm not a hussy."

But it was hard not to be okay with Edward Cullen sandwiching her between the countertop and his warm body, especially when his lips were at her neck and he was saying, "Please tell me you're on the menu tonight."

Because even though it was kind of the silliest pick-up line she'd ever heard, she was _still_ letting him slide flattened palms up her skirt. "That's really—" She gasped as his fingers felt the line of said underwear. The vase tittered a bit as she let it sit in the sink. "I mean… I'm not—I'm not that easy…"

It was a lie. She was such a liar.

"I think you should," she murmured as he pushed his hips into her backside and everything felt a little too hot. "I think you should respect me and my decisions, because, see you…" His tongue licked the nape of her neck and her next words were drowned by a trembling exhale. "We should stop because… don't stop."

"No?" he asked. One arm twined around her torso, and she let her head fall back on his shoulder, pushing back into him, her eyes closed as he palmed her breast.

"No… no, stop," she whispered, half-heartedly grabbing his wrist and his fingers pulled down her top and bra, all in one easy go.

His lips kissed her jaw, his lashes tickling her cheek. He grunted as he squeezed the uncovered mound and she sighed, angling her head enough that her lips touched his.

A slow-burning fire erupted in her as his tongue darted out to meet hers, and she twisted around and plastered herself against him, arms wrapped tight around his neck.

"We should go to dinner," she said, and his hands pressed her hard against him, his lips interrupting her words.

"Should," he breathed out.

His breath shallowed quickly, his hands roaming to touch the bare skin of her shoulders. She whimpered and bit his bottom lip, shivering hard against him. And then suddenly he was picking her up, pulling from her mouth to close his over her breast.

Her bottom rested against the edge of the sink and she wrapped her legs around his torso, whimpering as he bit her nipple gently and soothed it with his tongue, over and over again until her hands were fisted in his hair and she was gasping on moans.

"You sound so good," he whispered as he switched his attentions to her other breast, his hands grasping the sides of her underwear.

She threw her head back and stared blearily at the ceiling as his thumbs stroked the top of her thighs, one traveling slowly down to press into her clit. She jerked and a sound ripped out of her; she buried her face in the mess of his hair, blushing at his groan and the fact that her plan had failed entirely, and he could definitely feel how much she wanted him through that thin fabric.

It was around that time when she pushed at his shoulders hard, and he stepped back, eyes glazed over and chest heaving and a very noticeable bulge in his pants. She snapped her knees together and pulled up her top, holding her arms self-consciously to her chest.

"I'm… going upstairs to… change," she said slowly, catching her breath. "You're going to wait down here. And we're going to go to dinner. And there will be _no touching_."

He nodded and swallowed.

* * *

I'm planning on them having an actual conversation in the next chapter. LOL.


	4. Chapter 4

**you know what they say about musicians**

**(they're good with their hands)** - _part four_

**Genre**: Edward/Bella; AU/AH/smut with a glorified plot

**Rating**: M, for adult language, horny teenagers, and eventually lemons.

**Beta**: vampskies *heart*

**Summary**: Musicians are supposed to be good with their hands. And whattayaknow, Edward's a musician.

This was written as a present for _Jenn/dictums_. Ce qui compte est elle.

* * *

What Edward Cullen didn't understand was how Bella Swan could possibly think that he could carry on an intelligent conversation when she was still wearing that top. In his opinion, it was cruel. It was just a cruel punishment.

He watched as she folded her skirt down and sat. He was careful to avoid touching her as he slipped through the limited space to sit, because despite how painfully beautiful she was, he was committed to playing by her rules.

If he could control himself, that was.

And forget about his little episode in the kitchen, especially because despite her verbal protests, her body had been very willing. Very, very willing.

She looked up at him with a small thankful smile, and she was so pretty, her hair curled in waves and her lips painted pink… He sighed, his thoughts trailing off into oblivion.

"Thanks, Edward," she said, looking down to her menu.

He hovered there for a disoriented moment before mechanically sitting down, just because his more logical brain triumphed for a few precious moments.

They were at a little Italian restaurant in Port Angeles, and the car ride had been quiet and a bit uncomfortable. They talked little, only about band and polynomials, and Edward had spent the better part of the silence rolling over and over in his head a certain mantra. It went something like: _You are not a caveman. You have control. You will not attack her just because you know she'll let you. You are not a caveman._

His baser instincts were rebelling, however. Edward had clearly underestimated just how repressed he was after two years of lusting. Now that Bella Swan was in front of him, chewing adorably on her straw and contemplating what to order, he wasn't sure what to do besides claim her for his own.

It was pretty disgusting, when he thought about it. Here was this wonderful person out on a date with him and all he could think about was fucking her.

Touching her. Kissing her. She made the sexiest little gasp when he kissed her; he wasn't sure she even knew she did it.

"What are you going to get?"

It took him a few seconds to realize she had asked a question, and another few seconds to ignore the surge in his libido when he realized her cheeks were filled with a light blush from his stare. "Uh," he looked down at his ignored menu and picked the first thing he saw. "Chicken parm."

"I think I'm going to get the mushroom ravioli," she said thoughtfully.

He lifted his eyes as she looked away, nibbling on the nail of her thumb. Why was everything she did so cute? "Mushrooms are disgusting," he replied.

"What?" She looked up in surprise, smiling curiously at his grin.

"They're fungus," he explained.

"They're _food_," she argued.

"Fungus," he shot back.

She straightened and closed the menu, pointing her nose up self-importantly. "Well, now I'm just ordering the mushrooms out of spite."

He laughed and looked down, suddenly nervous. Some music was playing in the background—some notes of classical piano that filled the quiet. What was he doing here? Taking a beautiful girl out on a date, the same girl that had been the object of his every fantasy for two years. The same girl he had been so sure he'd never have a chance with because of his own cowardice. What _was_ he doing? He had no fucking clue, and she seemed so sure and honest of everything she was doing.

He was just a fucking mess around her.

"So, Edward Cullen." Bella was smiling at him, leaning in to his already hunched form. Her lashes fluttered when he met her eyes, her teeth instantly worrying her lip. "Uhm… what, uhm—where are you going next year?"

"Juilliard," he answered without hesitation, his voice low and flat.

"Oh." Her cheeks blushed, and he almost touched her, just to feel that warmth. He had his future all planned, and all he was interested in now was what this girl thought of him. Was Juilliard too pretentious? Not admirable enough? "That's really… that's really impressive, Edward. I had no idea. I'm not even that good at the violin… I was just…" She shrugged. "I got into Harvard, actually."

He smiled; he couldn't help it, because she looked almost ashamed about it, her eyes suddenly stricken to his neck. "Juilliard isn't as impressive as Harvard."

"I know, but—" She stopped, her face going a deep red. "No, not like—I meant you know, I don't even know what I'd _do_ at Harvard, but Juilliard—you're wonderful, I mean, you play the piano so…" If it was possible, more blood rushed to her face. "You're just so good at it—what I mean is… you're more impressive than _me_, so it doesn't—It doesn't really… I'll shut up now."

She sighed out and shook her head, her face draining and paling. Every movement of her lips distracted him, and the amusement he felt mingled with the arousal—she thought he was _impressive_, which was flattering and probably true in comparison to some, but not most. He watched as she tucked hair behind her ear, strands caressing her bare shoulders. He wanted to touch her.

"Bella," he said quietly, and she looked at him, her blush returning full-force. "I'm flattered, but you're the impressive one."

She shook her head. "No, really—I'm _not_. I'm not really good at anything… except maybe biology. I was thinking of majoring in biology."

He remembered biology last year. He'd sat in the back, without a partner, while he watched Tyler Crowley, the ingrate, fumble around the microscope and stare at Bella's boobs. He'd ignored the jealousy and possessiveness he'd felt, instead concentrating on vials and worksheets and imagining he was her partner so he could fumble around the microscope and stare at her boobs. (In a more discreet manner, obviously. Crowley needed to learn how the keep his eyes to himself.) It didn't help that she had looked so content and _happy_ even though Crowley was being an asshole and peering down her shirt whenever she looked into the microscope.

"You liked it last year," he acknowledged.

"You noticed?" she asked, her features softening.

There wasn't much about Isabella Swan he _didn't_ notice, and clearly she had no idea how enamored he was with her—no idea at all—and that was probably for the best. (The 'best' meaning his own pride.) "You should try, Bella," he encouraged with a smile. "You're smart. You can have anything you want."

She could definitely have him.

"Oh, uhm…" She fluttered a little and then reached for her water, her growing smile transforming into a grimace when the water sloshed onto the table. "Thanks, Edward," she said, dabbing the spot with her napkin.

He felt a glow somewhere below his ribs when she beamed at him, and tried with all the effort he had not to let that eagerness show.

"Well, what do _you_ like?"

"The piano," he answered without hesitation, without thought. It had been his prime interest since he was three, and he doubted it would change. But then Bella casually adjusted her top with a little discreet tug, and he thought maybe she was becoming a dangerously close second.

"I know that one," she responded wryly, sipping her water.

"I don't know," he said uncomfortably, unfolding his napkin to busy his hands. "I compose. I read." _I imagine you in sinful situations._

"Of course you compose. Musical genius at Juilliard," she teased. He felt his lips tugging into a smile; he let his eyes find hers to hold them. "What do you read?"

"Anything. Everything. Thoreau, Wilde, Descartes, Poe, Tolstoy. Classics."

"I love Edgar Allan Poe," she cooed. "I have the entire collection of his stories next to my bed."

"Not exactly light reading before sleep," he drawled.

She shrugged with one shoulder. "I think his stories are more interesting than scary. There's more than just a thrill, there's something tangible. There's always something to think about."

"What's your favorite?" he asked.

"_Ligeia_."

He smirked. "What does _Ligeia_ make you think about?"

"Devotion. How scary it is—how absolute it is to love someone so thoroughly, to be haunted by her presence even after she's dead."

"You don't think he was trying to move on? He married someone else."

"He spoke about her like she was a goddess, some supernatural being. He was holding onto to her, too."

"Valid point. I do agree," he conceded, and then paused. "It's my favorite one, too."

She smiled, and that's when the waitress appeared behind his shoulder, her voice cutting into the moment. He was irrationally aggravated by the poor girl's presence, and the wafting scent of too much perfume. "Are you two ready to order?"

"Chicken parm," he said quickly, holding up his menu.

Her hip jutted near his shoulder, but he kept his eyes on Bella, simply because she was shifting back and forth nervously, and then a lock of hair kissed the hint of cleavage above her top, and he was just gone for a few seconds.

"Sir?" The waitress' hand touched his shoulder briefly, and he glanced at her face with a reactive scowl. Alice was always saying he needed to be nicer, but he always thought that was counter-productive, considering he wasn't nice by nature. "I asked if you wanted anything to drink with that?"

"Water's fine," he replied shortly, and looked back to Bella, who was looking at him with a tilted head and an amused and curious expression.

"And you?"

"Oh, uhm… the mushroom ravioli. And my water's fine too." Bella gave the waitress the menu, and she walked away, finally. He watched Bella's lips purse; her fingers played with the hem of her napkin. "She was coming onto you, you know," she blurted out.

"I didn't really notice." He furrowed his brow and leaned further towards her.

Bella squinted her eyes and copied his movements, affording him quite the unintentional view down her shirt. "She was really obvious," she whispered conspiratorially.

"I was only noticing you," he said, and he felt his lips tugging up when she blushed, her face beautifully pink and illuminated by the soft yellow light.

"That's, well…" she trailed off, clearly pleased. "That was smooth."

"That was the truth."

"Smooth, again."

"Again, the truth," he teased.

Bella shook her head, as if to clear it, and let her eyes lift to meet his. The force of those sweet chocolate-colored orbs slammed into him like a battering ram. "I have a confession to make," she said, her voice hesitant and soft.

"What's that?" He shifted closer, close enough that her eyes detoured to his lips for one unadulterated moment. Warmth spread over his skin and he tilted his head to the side, all the better to kiss her if she would let him.

"I really like you," she breathed, and that warmth grew hot. "Jessica told me that I shouldn't tell you how _much_, but I… I really do, and I'm really hoping this isn't just physical because I think I'd like to try to be… more."

He blinked at her like a moron—a stunned, sad moron. This moment sort of felt like when he'd finally perfected his first Mozart piece at ten, and after the feeling of relief and accomplishment embraced him, it was shot to pieces knowing there was no one to celebrate it with who would _understand_. Only this time it was that Bella Swan was interested in him, he finally had what he wanted, and yet he felt the urge to run out the doors and ignore the fact that maybe human contact would be good for him, and that maybe he should give someone the _chance_ to understand him.

He was used to only understanding himself.

"Is that stupid to ask?" she asked in a small voice.

"Bella," he said, and the anxious look on her face softened, as if the sound of his voice could do that. "May I have permission to touch you?"

She looked confused, but nodded with little flushes of pink dotting the apples of her cheeks. He reached one hand to her; sliding his fingers over her inert wrist, thumb skimming the blue vein beneath her skin. Her lungs emptied, her breath caressing his face in little puffs of moist air. She felt so delicate and fragile, and he felt so completely out of control, as if in wanting her so badly he could shatter her. Her eyes dropped to his lips again, but this time they lingered, and he touched the blush on her cheek with curious fingertips, sighing at the warmth. His heart thumped, so loud, against his chest as her lashed touched her cheeks.

He was too selfish not to kiss her, so he did—chastely, lingering to catch her shaking sigh. "We could be more," he said.

"That's—that's what you want?"

"Yes," he murmured.

Whatever she wanted, he wanted. This was becoming a pattern, making her happy. A new terrifying pattern he wasn't quite sure what to make of. Under any other circumstance, he'd just assume his penis was winning over every argument, but there was something less manipulative about these decisions. Truth be told, he was quite sure he was just her willing slave, waiting for thrown scraps.

Her hand rose, fingers and palm skimming over the angle of his jaw. He swallowed and inched closer; her lips still a breath from his. When she slid her hand over the nape of his neck, curling her touch over the sensitive patch where his hair met his skin, his mind frayed into little pieces.

That was when he kissed her again, tongue softly slipping past her parted lips. She made that little sexy sigh and he stood up a little, holding her face with both hands. A moan vibrated into his mouth, her hands resting over his. A flash of earlier, his hands and mouth on her body and that identical sound, burned behind his eyelids, and before he could even think about it, he was sliding into her booth, caging her against the wall in the limited space. Her body turned to accommodate him and he grabbed beneath her bare knees to bring them between his legs, kissing her deeper and pulling her closer, pushing himself closer against her. His lips felt for her neck and she grabbed at his shoulders.

"Edward," she breathed. "Public. We're in public."

Every curse he knew ran through his head and he tore away from her, sitting up straight and placing both of his hands on the table with two simultaneous thuds.

The old couple slightly to the left of them looked rightly appalled. Maybe he _was_ a caveman. Bella sat up, her legs still distractingly draped over his thigh. "Uhm…" she trailed off, and he made the mistake of glancing over at her.

That top was a bit wrinkled, her skirt hiked up to the point of near inappropriateness. Her hair was slight askew, her lids were heavy, and she looked absolutely ravished. By _him_.

The waitress might have come by to give them their food, and she might have said something because he heard something buzzing by his ear. All he knew was that when he finally looked away from Bella, there was a plate of food being placed in front of him. "Thank you," he said out of habit, out of practice.

* * *

For the next chapter, I promise less conversation.


	5. Chapter 5

**you know what they say about musicians**

**(they're good with their hands) - **_part two_

**Genre: **Edward/Bella; AU/AH/smut with a glorified plot

**Rating: **M, for adult language, horny teenagers, and eventually lemons.

**Summary: **Musicians are supposed to be good with their hands. And whattayaknow, Edward's a musician.

**Author's Note:** FINALLY. This one's short, but whatev. It's something, and I've had writer's block, and thought it was long enough since my last update times ten.

This was written as a present for _Jenn/dictums_ at LJ. Ce qui compte est elle.

* * *

By the time Edward collapsed on his bed that night, the half-hard bulge in his pants a constant reminder of his predicament, he was exhausted from acting like a gentleman.

Or at least _trying_ to act like a gentleman.

He sighed and wiped a hand from his forehead to his chin, looking up at the shadows playing across the ceiling. The sun was down, Bella was safe at home, and he was torturing himself mercilessly with the sense memories of her soft skin; how it tasted, how it felt. How fucking wonderful it felt to _know_ she wanted him right back.

He closed his eyes and rested his hand on his stomach, two fingers grazing the hem of his pants.

He thought about the shy, sexy way she peeked at him from beneath lowered lashes. He thought about how she'd kept her legs in his lap as they ate, and the way she smiled when he touched her knee, brushing his fingers down her leg because he couldn't help himself.

He thought about how she'd kissed him soundly before getting out of the car, her cheeks full of red and her hastily blurted "bye." She was so deliciously beautiful when she blushed. It was around that thought when he unbuttoned his pants, releasing himself from the too-tight confines.

Maybe it was wrong, objectifying her like this, especially because now he _knew_ her, but he was honestly just a weak horny bastard. Just a pathetic weak horny bastard reaching for the pillow behind him to muffle a moan as he started to stroke himself.

Of course that's exactly when someone knocked on his door, causing his heart to jump straight up into his throat.

"Edward!"

He let go of himself and sat up, trying to control his breathing. "_What_, Alice?"

"How was your date?" she asked with restless curiosity through the door.

He rubbed at his temples and brought the pillow into his lap, as if covering his erection would make it go away. "It was _fine_, Alice. Can you leave me in peace now?" He was not in the mood. Not in the mood at all.

"Just fine?" He could imagine her pout. "You've only been crushing on her since we moved here."

"It was wonderful," he replied dryly. "We're getting married in the fall. You can plan it."

"You're such an ass, Edward!" she yelled.

"Thank you, Alice. Goodbye," he deadpanned.

"Ugh, excuse me for caring!" He could imagine her little fists closing, her petite form shaking with anger. Maybe he should feel bad, and he sort of did, a little—a little telling pang he brushed off minutely. She _was_ his sister, and she _was_ just caring, but to be honest, he could do without.

Mostly because he was a bastard that shut her out just in case he started to realize he cared too, but that was beside the point.

"_Thank_ you, Alice. _Good_bye," he repeated in agitation. He waited until her soft footfalls faded down the hallway, and then he lay back on the bed with a heaving sigh and an eye roll.

It wasn't any of Alice's business how his date was.

He closed his eyes and shoved aside the guilt, concentrating instead on the image of Bella… those graciously long legs and what it felt like to be between them… It was too easy to ignore that he was a jackass, because Bella certainly didn't think so… He reached for himself with a sigh, and closed his eyes.

* * *

When Monday morning rolled around, Bella was just fine. She was so fine, in fact, that she was abso-fucking-lutely ecstatic. She was on cloud nine, or, at the very least, cloud seven. She'd spent Sunday rolling in bed with a novel or two and a goofy smile, mostly because she read so little and thought of Edward so much it could be considered obsession.

She was practically skipping through class, and enjoying every moment of teachers droning on and Jessica shooting her half-knowing, half-worried smiles. (Obviously, Sunday had also meant Bella was threatened with bodily harm by Jessica if she didn't give her very minute detail about the date, so she did, to protect her limbs. Jessica had concluded Edward Cullen was a sexual predator, and she needed to protect Bella's virtue with the utmost attention. Bella thought this was ludicrous, mostly because if Edward wanted to ravish her, she would let it happen willingly. Jessica said that was the point.)

Anyway, Bella was in some sort of Edward-induced heaven. It wasn't until said reason for induced heaven showed his face in math class that Bella realized Jessica was probably right when she said, "Bella, you are obsessed," mostly because she turned a deep red, and felt an unmistakable warmth spike up her body heat at least five degrees.

She had a fever for Edward Cullen. It didn't help that when his eyes met hers, she melted and leaned forward, practically dying a little when instead of sitting where he was supposed to, he sat next to her with a knowing little smirk.

Oh, and did she mention that before he sat down, his eyes never leaving her for a second, he kissed the tip of her nose? Because he mostly certainly did.

Bella was sure Jessica was staring at them, open-mouthed. It was the only way Bella could explain the sudden uncharacteristic silence coming from her left, because she wasn't going to avert her gaze from Edward until she definitely had to.

"Hey," she whispered. She wasn't sure why she was whispering. Her lips also hurt from grinning so much.

"How are you?" he asked, taking out his books with the long capable fingers, his own smile cracking into his cheeks.

She bit her stretched bottom lip and nodded a little, holding her breath every moment his eyes captured hers, which seemed to be every moment he didn't need to watch what he was doing. "I'm… good. You? How was your weekend?"

His tongue slid between his lips and he raised his brow, a low chuckle escaping him. "The first half was exceedingly enjoyable. The second half was missing something," he answered slyly.

She looked to the dusty floor between them, absurdly pleased with his answer, with him. He seemed more relaxed than she had ever seen him—happier than she had ever seen him. She breathed in, surprised, when his fingers brushed her chin, tipping her gaze back to his. The touch was short, and electric, and she wanted more.

She smiled at his smile. "You're almost as good at flattering me as you are at the piano," she murmured.

He leaned in, the skin around his eyes crinkling, and she couldn't help but lean towards him a little more, too. "I'm not flattering you, Bella," he muttered beneath his breath.

The bell rang and she sat back, finally looking away from him to shoot Jessica a blush.

She was open-mouthed, like Bella suspected.

* * *

This was a good day. Edward had decided this from the moment he opened his eyes that morning. The sun was shining, the birds were singing—well actually, it was raining and the birds were sort of annoying, but it was a good day regardless.

He was the first one showered and dressed and out of the house. He got a decent parking spot, and the breakfast he had grabbed from the kitchen tasted wonderful. He spent a half hour before homeroom in the auditorium, playing something new, something brilliant and beautiful, and something he definitely felt stirring inside of him in math class while he watched Bella peek over and meet his gaze and nervously play with her long, silky auburn hair.

This something was happening to _him_. It had hit him like a battering ram Sunday morning—that last night, he had a date with Isabella Swan, and despite being an anti-social horny freak, she had said she wanted to be with him. And despite this scaring the living hell out of him, it was just too good to pass up.

Maybe Alice was right. Maybe he should let himself be a little happy.

Which was why he was walking Bella to her next class, watching her smile like it was the air he breathed. He made her happy. She was really happy, and it was because of him.

She slowed to a stop and smiled, fidgeting with her hands, and throwing one back in a gesture. "Uhm, this is me," she said.

He nodded. "Hey, you know…" he blurted out, nervously pushing back his hair.

She looked up at him with wide expectant eyes, taking a small step closer, which was pretty significant, considering they were standing inappropriately close to begin with. Her long hair spilled behind her shoulders, and like a magnet, his hand dropped to slide over the soft cotton of her top, his fingers discreetly bending back to mingle with the soft strands.

Her warm palms came up to rest over his chest, and she blushed. He smiled.

"Yeah?" she prompted.

"What are you doing tonight?"

"Well," she started, staring at his chest for a moment, "Mike's parents are out of town. I don't know… it's not really one of my _things_, but he's having a party, and Jessica wants me to go… You don't have to keep me company or anything, I mean… I know it's not _your_ scene either, because I never see you at any parties, or maybe you're just not invited. Not that you _wouldn't_ be, I just mean—no one really _knows_ you, so…"

She was right—it wasn't one of his things. Never had been, and it probably never would, despite Alice's constant nagging that it should be. He knew about the party; his sister had told him, but at the time he'd just rolled his eyes at it. Going with Bella didn't sound so bad, though. "He's having a party on a Monday?"

Bella shrugged. "They just left for some of the week, so. It'll be small."

"Okay," he answered easily.

Her eyes widened with a stretch of her lips, and she nodded enthusiastically, a becoming blush tinting her cheeks red. He suppressed the urge to touch the heated curve. "Really?"

"Really," he said, smiling.

She tilted forward on her tippy toes, her fingers curling into his shirt. One moment she was close enough to kiss, and the next moment she _was_ kissing him—a short press of her lips that, despite its innocence, seared through him.

His world focused, centered in on the delicate brush, the slight suction pulling at his bottom lip as she stepped away, and he couldn't help but lean forward to prolong the touch just a moment longer.

God, she was wonderful.

* * *


	6. AUTHOR'S NOTE

**_DEFINITELY, DEFINITELY READ THIS FIRST:_**  
This is an unfinished chapter. Furthermore, it's an unfinished scene. This is all I have of this fic that I haven't shared; I've been getting so many reviews and messages about continuing this story so I figured that... this is the least I can do.

Because, yes. I'm not going to continue this. I don't like saying that with such surety; I usually wouldn't. But I know myself and I won't lie to any of you. I became I member of the _Twilight_ fandom a long time ago and to be completely honest I've lost not only my interest for the series but more importantly my passion for it.

I really feel awful saying that. Every one of you that has supported and loved and reccommended this story has made me more happy than I can say. I'm glad that you read my ramblings and enjoyed it. I wish I could tell you all where this story was going and how it would end, but this truth is I have no clue because it really... didn't have a plot to begin with haha. But knowing me I can say that yes, they would undoubtedly fall in love and have mindblowing sex after all this tension.

So... I'm sorry. I know how disappointing it is to love an abandoned story and wish it could be completed. I hope you all understand. If it's any consolation, here's all I have of the next chapter. This is it.

* * *

It took approximately an hour for Edward to get ready that night, much to his chagrin. It was ridiculous really, how slow he was being about showering and getting dressed-something that only took him fifteen minutes on a normal day. He was nervous though, and when he was nervous he became very slow and precise about things, and what was worse, Alice had flounced into his room at the end of it, took one look at his completely appropriate shirt, and gave him that _look_.

"_What_?" he'd snapped, on the brink of really snapping anyway, and she'd reached into his closet and pulled out some green and grey plaid shirt he'd never worn before.

"Wear this. Trust me," she said with a reassuring smile, and he'd rolled his eyes and changed into it, just to avoid an argument.

Now he was quite happy with his sister's choice, actually, because he was currently standing near the stairs in the middle of a party, (Hadn't Bella said it'd be small?) and Bella had greeted him at the door, took one look at his outfit, and smiled a very slow, very hypnotizing smile.

Suddenly he felt ten different types of shy, and he quirked his lips and blushed, diverting his eyes to the floor.

"Got here okay?" she said over the music, and placed her hand on his forearm.

He felt her touch down to his damn toes, and nodded, glancing up to observe the room as an adequate distraction. There were ten people in the living room, more or less, and he could see more in the kitchen, and out on the back patio. Alice was already outside laughing with some of her friends.

"Good," she said, sidling closer. A whiff of lavender and Bella invaded his senses and he breathed her in; one hand reached for her waist unconsciously, again. She was warm under his palm, and she was wearing low-riding jeans and this yellow top that just it was just perfect and soft to his touch, and he saw her curled hair brush his shoulder as she stepped forward.

"Did I miss anything?" he asked.

She shrugged and rolled her eyes. "Not really. Just hanging out."

It was a vague answer, but he took it. "Is this what usually happens at parties?" he asked, mocking his own cluelessness.

The skin around Bella's eyes crinkled as she studied him with narrowed eyes, and an amused smile curled the tips of her lips up. "I'm glad you came," she said, leaning towards him. Her lower body pressed against his, and his back collided and dug into the stair railing, but fuck if he cared.

She was warm and pretty and against him. A flush filled his cheeks and he swallowed; he was suddenly aware that other people were in the room, and his eyes flicked up to check if anyone was noticing this. 'This' meaning Isabella Swan wrapping her arms around his waist as if he was remotely desirable company.

"Want to get a drink and go upstairs?" she asked, her cheeks pooling with a reflecting blush.


End file.
